


“no reason.”

by clickingkeyboards



Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [71]
Category: Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens
Genre: Best Friends, F/M, Friendship, Heartbreak, Holidays, M/M, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards
Summary: George is absolutely in love with Alexander Arcady and his life is any romantic’s dream fairy tale ending. The only problem? Alexander is in love with Hazel Wong.Canon EraWritten for the seventy-first prompt in the '100 ways to say "I love you"' prompt list by p0ck3tf0x on Tumblr.
Relationships: (unrequited) Alexander Arcady/George Mukherjee, Alexander Arcady & George Mukherjee, Alexander Arcady/George Mukherjee, Alexander Arcady/Hazel Wong, one-sided Alexander Arcady/George Mukherjee
Series: one hundred ways to say 'i love you' [71]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1533164
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	“no reason.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WritesEveryBlueMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritesEveryBlueMoon/gifts).



“You’re insufferable, Alex. You _do_ know that, don’t you?” I say, and he looks up in offence from where he’s packing his suitcase. We leave tomorrow evening and both of us are getting a headstart on packing, as it’s dark outside and neither of us can sleep. I’ve no idea why he looks so affronted at what I said; it’s true. “What? You are! You insist until you’re blue in the face that you like Daisy Wells, and then you go and look at Hazel Wong like _that_.”

“ _What_?” he splutters, jerking away from his crumpled shirts and almost falling over in his haste to look at me. As usual, he’s underprepared and half-dressed in an unbuttoned rumpled shirt creased from hasty packing, and his hair is askew. “I don’t like Hazel, George!”

I tip my head to the ceiling and theatrically roll my eyes. There is a special kind of idiocy rooted in denial, and Alexander is certainly falling deeply back into it, completely blind to the fact that he has already tripped. I glance back down and see that he’s thrown himself back on the bed and is propped up on his elbows, half-buttoned shirt hanging open and tan line visible in a slash across his collar bone. It’s such an exposed and romantically comfortable position that I find myself rapidly averting my eyes again.

“You’re thinking,” he comments to me, amusement clear in his voice.

“I’m deducing,” I reply condescendingly.

Sitting up, he frowns at me and reaches for his shirt buttons. “ _What_ exactly are you deducing? Also, don’t mind me changing, we at least ought to get into pyjamas in case Felix and Lucy burst in and say that we need to bolt because the British government is on their backs or something.”

I nod and say, “Nothing I haven’t seen before,” swallowing the lump in my throat and staring as purposely as I could at my stockinged feet. “You are unbelievable.”

“I thought I was insufferable,” he teases, and I steal a glance at him to see him grinning with an eyebrow raised.

“You’re both,” I say, dragging a hand down my face and feeling my cheek hot under my fingertips. “Of course you don’t like her, Hastings. _Of course_ you aren’t in love with Hazel Wong. You turn as red as anything whenever she appraises something you do, you scramble to get your letter from her every morning and get disappointed when there isn’t one waiting for you, and you were _stuttering_ when you had to put a hand on her waist and touch her lips with the palm of your hand. But _of course_ you aren’t in love with her. Your hands flit about when she speaks to you, and you tug on your cuffs awkwardly while you’re waiting to speak to her. Nothing she ever says is forgotten by you, and you’re delighted whenever she remembers something that you’ve told her. But no, _of course_ your feelings for her are totally platonic.”

At my open deduction of his entire demeanour surrounding her, Alexander gawks at me. “B… but… I’m in love with Daisy!”

“You think Daisy’s pretty. You’re in love with Hazel.”

He stares for a moment, and I give him my coolest stare back. Why can’t he ever _see_? “Put on some clothes, Alex. We’ll talk about this later.”

“You _are_ odd, George.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “And where would you be without me, Hastings?”

“Probably dead, destitute, or drooling in a gutter.”

I can’t stop my mouth quirking up into a smile. Alexander can land a deadpan joke even when talking about the most grim things. “Exactly.”

* * *

We talk for hours, about anything and everything, and it all runs rings about me before coming back to Hazel. “Maybe I am in love with her,” he muses, and I raise an eyebrow at him. _Finally._

“Congratulations, you’re officially the last person to figure it out,” I comment dryly, stretching my arms above my head. “We ought to sleep.”

He sighs. “I suppose we ought.”

Both of us reach to turn off the lights on our side tables, and then he speaks into the darkness of our hotel room. “Thanks, George. You’re a real help. God knows what I would do without you.”

“God knows nothing,” I reply cynically as my heart hammers inside my rib cage, throbbing in my ears and clear from where my hand is curled against my chest. “It’s no problem at all, Hastings.”

* * *

It’s one of those nights where I feel sick to my stomach, where I swallow down my affections before coughing them back up and letting them out with each breath until they saturate the air. I can’t stop _thinking_ , I can never shut my mind up. I envy those that can. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that I _want_ him, and not even in _that_ way. I think of his blond hair and hazel eyes, and I want to tell him how absolutely and unconventionally dashing he is. 

I also want to vomit from the cliche of it all. 

At Hazel's birthday party, a meagre affair at the hotel, they played a vinyl that Alexander introduced me to years ago.

I voiced this to Daisy and she asked me, “Does this song remind you of him?”

And I laughed, I had to, because, well, everything does.

How ridiculous, that I cannot think of anything but how badly I want to feel safe in his arms. I want him to tell me about everything he’s been up to, no matter if I’ve heard it all before. I want so desperately to force out that laugh, the one that barks out unexpectedly at things I say. I can never believe it, never believe that _I_ caused _that_. His laugh is on my mind all the time, springing into my thoughts at any given moment of every day. 

I think of him so often and unintentionally, it’s as natural as breathing at this point.

I’ve never been opposed to photos of me, goodness knows that the world needs more of my presence, but I want all the photos to be of _us two_.

I want to take him to my favourite place in London just to kiss him there, to write him letters and stargaze and tick off every point on a neverending list of fantasy. 

And most of all, I want him to want me too.

* * *

The following morning, we head out onto the beach with the girls. I suppose both of them look pretty in their swimsuits, incredibly grown-up given the childish get-up that I’ve seen the two of them in. Daisy is laughing so loud that half the beach can see her, and she instantly ducks behind our wind breaker to strip off her summer dress and shoes and dash into the sea. With a cry, Alexander strips down to his swim shorts and rushes after her. In an instant, both of them are braving the chilly sea and shrieking with laughter. Daisy splashes Alexander, and he retaliates, and then she flings herself at him with a marvellous war cry and both of them vanish under the waves.

“Should we?” I ask Hazel.

She blushes. “I suppose. Don’t look!”

“I won’t,” I say, averting my eyes as she dumps her summer dress on the ground.

“Would you ever look?” she asks abruptly, and I turn to see her staring at me.

“What?”

“Would you ever look at _any_ girl?” Her eyes are so round and curious, and I feel the sudden compulsion to tell it _all_ to the open and honest Hazel Wong.

Obviously she’ll have no objections. “No.”

“Oh.” She smiles awkwardly at me. “That’s okay. Really, it is.”

There’s an awkward pause. “Oh, I know!” she cries. “Let’s go and tackle our detectives. I’ll gladly do Daisy. You take Alexander?”

“Of course. Three, two, one, GO!”

We make a break for it down the beach towards them, shrieking as the waves swallow up our feet, and launch ourselves at our friends. Daisy screams something rather unladylike, while Alexander merely gasps and falls under before hauling himself back up and grabbing me in a headlock, forcing me under the waves.

I resurface and shove at his chest, and he laughs and shoves me back. Naturally, I don’t overbalance because my coordination is flawless, and so I catch the besotted look he casts at Hazel. My chest constricts.

“Why are you staring at me, George?” he asks.

I draw myself up, swallow it down. “No reason.”

Maybe in another dimension he’s in love with me too.


End file.
